


Matchmaker, Matchmaker

by UsaChan1997



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Comedy, F!Byleth, F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route, Mentioned Black Eagles Students (Fire Emblem), Mentioned Blue Lions Students (Fire Emblem), Pining, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:35:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22727728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UsaChan1997/pseuds/UsaChan1997
Summary: When she came to work at Garreg Mach, Byleth Eisner promised her father she would kick her habit of meddling in people's love lives. But with so many adorable students, would matchmaking--er, nudging them toward their true feelings-- really be such a bad thing?
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 23
Kudos: 104





	1. Observations

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine's Day! Hope y'all enjoy the beginning of this wild ride.

“When confronting any enemy, information can be more valuable than any Hero's Relic.”

Claude von Riegan’s eyes crinkled at Teach’s words as she circled the classroom—today’s lecture was befitting of his recent activities. But, rather than an enemy combatant, the newest professor at Garreg Mach herself was the subject of his scrutiny.

From their first encounter fending off bandits in near Remire, Claude could tell she was something special, if a little otherworldly. He felt torn between the ease with which she pulled him into her orbit and his instinct to always be wary, always be calculating. Her sudden position of power at the monastery, in Rhea’s inner circle, was suspicious—Claude couldn’t help but think that there were stronger forces at work than simple nepotism. Was there an ulterior motive involved? A scheme by the Church? Most importantly to Claude, would Byleth Eisner’s entanglements be an asset in achieving his dream, or a hindrance?

“It’s difficult to observe a target’s habits, preferred tactics, or their loyalties without intensive investigation. However, by way of even small observations, we can glean—"

She was an enigma. For someone so close to his age, Teach appeared to be overflowing with composure and lacking in visible emotion, to an almost inhuman degree. For all her compassion and active involvement in the education of the Golden Deer, there was an aloofness in her demeanor that was at odds with her mentoring. Claude noted that she often preferred to orchestrate her students’ growth from a distance through assigned tasks or special training, rather than lecturing about areas in need of improvement. But for someone who rarely verbalized her methods, she was extremely observant and surprisingly effective. And when he did directly ask for help, she was quick to comply. So, did she care, or didn’t she?

“Wh-What if the enemy is impossible to read?” Marianne mumbled, wringing her hands.

Teach looked her student straight in the eyes, and for a moment, she was the Ashen Demon, the ice-cold mercenary. “’Impossible’ is a death sentence, don’t fall into that mindset. When you’re unsure, you must be vigilant and flexible. If you want to win—to survive—work together as a unit to cover each other’s weak points until you find an opening.”

Marianne gulped. The bell sounded, the students began to pack up, and Claude remained frozen in his seat, chewing his cheek. Maybe this confusion was a manifestation of Teach’s unusual upbringing, but to Claude, leaving it there felt reductionist. Really unsatisfying. He would need to conduct further investigations.

“What are all of these notes about, O’ Fearless Leader?” Hilda leaned over his shoulder to take a peek, and Claude fought the urge to snap the leather-bound book shut with a suspicious amount of urgency. Instead, he slyly covered his latest observations of their professor with one hand, shooting his longtime friend a carefree wink.

“Oh, you know me. I’m a very diligent student, unlike some people.”

“I see.” Hilda took a seat next to him, giving him the tilted-head raised-eyebrow combination that meant she wasn’t buying it. But she went on as if she did, her voice honey-sweet. “Well, you know, we’re all born with different talents and defects. If we’ll only be disappointed in the end, why waste time on fruitless pursuits?”

Though they had much in common, in goal orientation, Claude and Hilda disagreed fundamentally. Both of them projected bubbly, nonchalant personas in order to survive and prosper in noble circles. But while Claude strove to reach a huge, optimistic ideal and make it look effortless, Hilda’s apparent lack of effort was governed by her pessimism.

Claude stretched out in his seat, letting out an exaggerated sigh as he studied the classroom’s vaulted ceilings. “So, the Goddess determines our success and our puny human efforts are futile. How cruel. I must say, though, engaging topics of complex philosophy? I don’t think you give yourself enough credit, Miss Goneril.”

“You flatter me, Claude.” Hilda gave a dainty little laugh. “But should the compliments of a stalker be all that appealing to a lady of my station?”

Claude’s gaze shot back to his desk, where his journal was noticeably absent, then to his friend, whose eyes shone with interest and whose manicured fingers flipped voraciously through every page the way bored noblewomen perused erotica. “Hey,” he whisked it out of her hands, quick to close it this time. “There was no stalking involved, thank you. I’m not Lorenz—”

“Did someone say _Lorenz Hellman Gloucester_ —?”

“No,” the two of them deadpanned in unison, and Lorenz hmphed, nose upturned, exiting the room with a flourish.

“Fair,” Hilda rolled her eyes once he had gone, nudging Claude’s shoulder. “I’m not sure if Lorenz knows the Professor’s favorite tea is jasmine, her favorite pie is wildberry, and her favorite time to sit by the fishing docks is at sunset.”

Claude wrinkled his nose, his cheeks warming slightly. “Common knowledge, really.”

“What is?” Both of them flinched at the Professor’s appearance before them. There was no way to tell how long she’d been standing there; studying her face, Claude couldn’t decide if she was vaguely amused, irritated, or if maybe her stomach was upset.

“The types of plants we’re raising in the greenhouse this month,” Hilda lied smoothly. “Claude was reminding me so I can be more careful tending to them.”

“How thoughtful, Claude.” Teach’s eyes sparkled, the tiniest hint of a smile gracing her lips. But within a blink, the micro-expression faded, and Claude was left wondering if he dreamed it. He was so focused on the change that he almost didn’t catch her next words: “If I’m not mistaken, the two of have been tasked with sky patrol this week. Isn’t it about time?”

“Aw, but wyverns are so scary,” Hilda pouted. “Don’t flowers suit me better?”

“I think lizards suit you just fine,” Claude quipped. This time, Hilda’s nudge to his shoulder was more of a bruising jab.

“Pfft, you two seem close.” However slightly, Byleth’s shoulders shook, hand resting over her mouth. Hilda and Claude shared a shocked glance. Did she… laugh?

“Uh, yeah! Sorry for slacking, Teach. We’ll get to it.” Claude defaulted to his easy grin and gave a crisp salute,

“Hurry up, now,” Byleth chided.

“You’re welcome,” Hilda muttered as they made their way toward the stables.

A few weeks of inconspicuous non-academic note-taking later, Claude had made little progress. That is, until one morning, a bit after sunrise when he spotted Cyril and Lysithea in the courtyard, having a bit of trouble carrying some would-be firewood. Claude was about to help them when a strong grip pulled him into a crouch within the shadow of a pillar.

Ready to throw down, Claude’s eyebrows shot up at the sight of Byleth, gaze focused on the scene playing out in front of them, hand frozen on Claude’s wrist. “We can’t interfere,” she whispered by way of explanation.

Claude’s heart began to pound. Was this real? The heat and closeness of their bodies told him it was. But nothing about this made any sense. At least, not yet.


	2. Lovebirds of a Feather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Removing splinters, revealing motives, vowing to investigate. Our beloved students and their professor have enthusiasm to spare.

Though she might not have looked it, Byleth Eisner was fascinated by love.

Raised by a single father and a motley band of mercenaries, Byleth had been exposed to many unconventional forms of affection—backing up loved ones in barfights, presenting a potential partner with the perfect stone for sword-sharpening, giving up the only bed in a crowded inn-room or the warmest blanket on a freezing night sleeping on the forest floor.

As for more conventional depictions, she was often isolated from politics and high culture in her travels to preserve her neutrality, but Byleth had spent many a night off curled up with novels about courtly, poetic love, tragic encounters of the star-crossed variety, even raunchy screeds starring gorgeous men and underwhelming female leads. Ridiculous, Byleth decided, but containing a certain charm, nonetheless.

Very few people knew of her curious interest. When strangers looked at Byleth, they saw a cold, expressionless killing machine. They saw the aloof child of the Bladebreaker, a demon who left none standing if her employer’s coin spelled death. To be fair, her face didn’t match her fancies.

Byleth didn’t mind the dissonance much. It gave her an advantage in one of her guilty pleasures—matchmaking. Her father, a frequent adversary to her schemes, referred to her attempts to help friends and allies as ‘meddling’, and when they’d been more or less forced into their new life at Garreg Mach, one of his reminders, along with his warning about Lady Rhea, had been not to let her meddlesome habits influence the lives of her students.

Byleth had assured him she would never let that happen, the way he put it made it sound overly inappropriate, and her intentions in the past had always been wholesome. Even so, she decided it was best to be conscientious, to keep her curiosities about and possible explorations of love to herself. While she did feel compelled to play matchmaker for her adorable pupils in the Golden Deer house, she knew there were more important things afoot.

Why, then, was she crouching behind a pillar in the courtyard, stopping her house leader from interrupting a couple that, to borrow a term from the Pirates of the West, she ‘shipped’?

_Another scheme._ Jeralt’s reprimand had already formed in her mind. But this wasn’t a scheme, it was a _nudge_. A gentle manipulation of chore schedules so that two compatible souls could find comfort in one another. Byleth had noticed the way the others treated Lysithea, with a mix of the care one might extend to a younger sibling and the reverence reserved for an undoubtable prodigy. But Lysithea herself didn’t see it that way. She felt diminished when anyone considered her age, and that feeling propelled her to work harder than anyone, to an unhealthy extent.

Cyril, on the other hand, felt he needed to work his hardest to earn a place at the monastery, at Rhea’s side. Both of them were incredibly stubborn and both of them were forced to mature very fast. Byleth rarely saw Cyril’s expression change from its default seriousness or practiced concentration, but when he looked at Lysithea, there was a softness in his eyes that reminded her how young he really was. Likewise, when Lysithea talked with Cyril, she spoke easily, vibrantly, as if to a peer, someone to whom she didn’t need to prove herself. In their dynamic was the foundation for a solid friendship, or, maybe, puppy love.

But Byleth was not about to explain all of this to Claude. He would definitely think she was unhinged. Instead, she prevented him from interfering, put a finger to her lips and held him in place, and waited for the scene to play out.

“Um, Teach, why aren’t we helping?” Claude kept his voice low and remained still, but his tone was incredulous as he watched Lysithea struggle with a tall, wobbling stack of lumber. Cyril was several paces behind, yelling something they couldn’t quite make out.

“Shared hardship forms bonds and fosters personal growth,” Byleth replied.

“And by ‘hardship’ you mean carrying too much wo—” Claude’s whispered retort was interrupted by a loud clattering and a yelp of pain as the freshly chopped logs scattered across the grass.

“Lysithea! Are you okay?” Cyril ran to the young mage’s side, worry glazing his expression.

“I told you, you don’t have to worry about me! I’m older than you, carrying this much is nothing. I just tripped is all.” Lysithea crouched down and began to gather up the fallen firewood, but Cyril stopped her, his voice stern.

“And I told _you_ this is my job. Look, seems like you have splinters.”

“I do?” Instinctively, Lysithea dropped the logs in alarm, but then she seemed to remember she was playing the older, reliable one. “I mean, psh, it doesn’t matter. I’m not some princess who can’t stand a little spli—ow!” she winced, holding her hand close to her chest.

“Here, let me see?” A bit hesitant, Lysithea nodded. Gently, Cyril cradled her left hand in his own, leaning in to take a closer look. Byleth couldn’t see the finer details from this distance, but it didn’t take long for him to find one. “Okay, this may hurt a bit. One, two,” there was a sharp intake of breath. “Does it hurt?”

Lysithea shook her head. “No, it’s fine. Thank you, Cyril.” She lightly squeezed his fingers, and even from far away, Byleth and Claude could see the prominent red of the boy’s blushing cheeks. They stayed frozen like that for a few moments, unsure how to proceed, until Lysithea cleared her throat, admitted that she had carried too much, and asked Cyril if they could split the burden equally. Cyril agreed, and at the sight of such sweetness, a smile crept across Bylelth’s face.

“You see, personal growth.” The professor turned back to Claude, but her residual grin turned to confusion when she saw his wide-eyed expression. He was not looking at the potential lovebirds, but at Byleth herself with an intensity he usually reserved for concocting schemes. “Do I… have something on my face?”

Claude blinked, a sheepish hand flying to the back of his neck. “Er, no. I was just surprised. You have a nice smile, Teach.”

“Oh, I see.” For some reason, Byleth found it incredibly embarrassing to keep looking into his eyes from so close-up, so she turned her gaze back to the retreating figures of Cyril and Lysithea and got to her feet, extending a hand to help her house leader. “Sorry for grabbing you, Claude. Thanks for staying quiet.”

Claude grasped it to pull himself up, and though she kept her face blank, Byleth felt a surge of warmth at the proximity. “No worries, this has been quite exciting. And informative.” He gave a devilish wink.

Byleth didn’t know how to take that, and neither did the horde of butterflies flitting around in her stomach. More importantly, she reminded herself, letting one of her students know about her bizarre proclivities was out of the question. Instead of digging herself a deeper hole, she decided it was best to cut the interaction short, so she gave Claude a wave and hurried back to her quarters.

~~~

“Hilda, you won’t believe—” Claude froze in his friend’s doorway, flinching awkwardly at the force with which the opening door hit the wall. “Ah, hey, Dorothea.”

“Good afternoon, Claude,” Dorothea fluttered her lashes. The girls were perched on Hilda’s bed, Dorothea kneeled behind Hilda, in the middle of working her hair into an intricate twist.

“Was knocking out of the question?” Hilda quipped. “What if we weren’t decent in here?”

Claude would have been more apologetic if he weren’t so suddenly energized. He began to pace the length of the room, but then he remembered that Dorothea was there and settled for straddling the desk chair, resting his arms on the seat back. “Sorry, my brain is a little frazzled at the moment.”

“Oooh, does this involve matters of the heart?” Dorothea asked.

“Not exactly.” Claude paused. He wasn’t sure how much he should reveal. As much as he trusted Hilda and liked Dorothea, he didn’t want to start any gossip. “Hilda, you know how I’ve been conducting a bit of an investigation—”

“Stalking,” Hilda corrected.

“—An _investigation,”_ Claude insisted, “into someone’s character?”

“I remember,” Hilda rolled her eyes.

“Wow, a character study? What did you find out about this person? Something juicy, I hope.” Dorothea carefully pinned a section of hair.

“I’m not certain yet, but I have a hunch,” Claude paused for dramatic effect. “They’re a romantic.”

“That’s it?” Dorothea looked unimpressed.

By contrast, Hilda’s jaw dropped, and she jerked her head sideways to look at him. “The Professor? You can’t be serious.”

“I have reason to believe it.” Claude confirmed.

“Oh, Professor Manuella is definitely a romantic,” Dorothea hummed, guiding Hilda’s head back into position. “But I’m guessing you don’t mean her. Is it Hanneman? Shamir? Goddess forbid it’s Seteth.”

“Since the investigation has yet to conclude, I won’t say.” Claude grinned.

“Wait.” Dorothea, having placed the last pin, clapped her hands together in apparent realization. “It’s Byleth, isn’t it?” Claude kept his silence, but his non-answer was enough to convince the former songstress. “But that’s impossible, how could you know something like that without asking? She’s so—”

“Unfathomable?” Hilda offered. “But we did see her smile awhile back at Claude’s dumb lizard joke, it’s not impossible that he pulled another one out of her.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Claude chuckled. “But to be more precise, I think she laughed at our banter, not the joke itself. I didn’t ask, but I noticed that she becomes more expressive around cute or romantic situations.”

“Claude von Riegan, you’re seducing our teacher to learn her weaknesses?!” Dorothea gasped, clutching Hilda’s hand as they both feigned scandalization.

“Not romantic situations with me,” Claude did his best to keep his embarrassment in check and maintain his easy composure. “I meant in response to other people. Like Cyril and Lysithea, for example.”

“Those two, huh? I always pegged Lysithea for secretly crushing on Felix-types.” Hilda mused.

“Couples aside, one or two instances isn’t enough to establish a pattern. Shouldn’t you get more concrete proof before making assumptions? I don’t know about you, but I would not want to be on the Professor’s bad side.” Dorothea shuddered.

“You raise a good point, Miss Arnault. I don’t have much proof. But I intend to change that.”


End file.
